Beauty of the Unseeing
by Cygrus
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a man content in life, a man who can see beauty, even if his eyesight was never there. Alfred Jones doesn't understand Arthur's sense of beauty whatsoever, but he's willing to learn.


**I haven't uploaded much here lately, so I'll give you this. This fic is a prize for kstumps on Tumblr, for winning a giveaway.**

**Word Count: 5,531**

* * *

Arthur Kirkland didn't know colors. He didn't know what trees looked like, he would never know the color of the blue sky above. He wouldn't know that grass was green, or the multiple colors that autumn brought. Red apples, orange pumpkins, he had never seen these. He had never seen anything, not even the bouquets of flowers he would arrange in beautiful manners.

Arthur owned a floral shop in a quiet town. All the citizens knew him for his flowers, and all of them questioned how he could make such gorgeous things without seeing them. Arthur never gave direct answers. All he did was smile and fill their orders out, moving onto a new request.

This man hummed tunes, soft music floating through his shop at all times. It calmed customers, giving a light feeling in their hearts. Arthur usually sat with his eyes closed, fingers on his counter, drumming them. He was lucky he couldn't see the pitying looks he received.

But, somehow, he seemed just fine with this. He was blind; he had been his entire life. He was content in life, he was happy. Arthur didn't want much change; this was how it was, and how it would remain. He had daily routines that he followed at all the times, never changing. That's how he liked it.

On a Tuesday, just before closing time, the bell hanging above the shop door chimed. Arthur felt a breeze hit him, and footsteps approached. He stood straight, brow raised, waiting for this person to speak. It was quite a while before they did, and their tone was annoyed.

"Dude, I kinda need help over here." Ah, American. Arthur stood from his stool, grabbing the counter.

"Yes, yes. What do you need, sir?" He didn't move in the direction he heard the voice. He could never be sure in where his customers were. Most knew that and helped him, but this man must have not been from here.

"Uh, anyways. I need some of these flowers together with these flowers in a bouquet."

Oh, this was just splendid. Arthur didn't deal with this often. "Sir, what kind?"

"The kind I'm pointing at. I don't know what they're called."

"That doesn't tell me much."

The man, Alfred Jones, looked to Arthur, a bit upset at how the shop owner was acting oblivious. He walked to him, then paused, giving him a long look. His eyes were green, but dull. It was as if they held no life, and it almost scared Alfred. He considered leaving the shop before a thought hit him. He swallowed thickly, feeling guilt form in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you blind?"

"Yes."

Wow, Alfred, way to be a jerk. He shifted and looked away from the man. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." Arthur gave him a kind smile.

"It's alright. Would you mind taking me to the flowers you were referring to?" Arthur held out his hand, the smile still on his lips. Alfred hesitated before grabbing Arthur's wrist, leading him to the flowers he was speaking of.

Arthur touched at the petals, seeming to be deep in thought. Alfred watched him quietly, taking in the way that Arthur chewed on his lower lip, slightly chapped. The slender fingers played on the delicate flower, his touches gentle and loving. The corners of his lips would turn upwards at time, and Alfred found himself lost in the man's eyes, the ones that were barely there. He gulped and looked away, waiting for Arthur to speak.

"Peonies and geraniums?" Arthur asked, pulling his hands away. Alfred jolted a bit, looking back to Arthur.

"Er, yeah! I-I mean, if that's what they are." He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "I don't really know either way. Flowers were never my thing." Arthur gave a light laugh and nodded.

"I understand." He took the flowers into his arms, returning to his counter. Alfred was curious as to how Arthur managed his way around the shop, but shrugged and went with it. He didn't know Arthur, and he wouldn't question. "Alright, so a bouquet, am I correct? For someone special?"

"Uh, sorta, yeah." He shuffled and leaned on the counter. "Will they be done by tomorrow?"

"Is that what you want?" Arthur looked up. "If it is, then yes."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." Alfred grinned, then stopped when he remembered that Arthur couldn't see. "So, um, tomorrow?"

"Yes. Thank you very much, Mister..." He trailed off, waiting for an answer.

"Alfred Jones."

"Mister Jones. I'll speak with you tomorrow." Arthur returned to messing with the plants, humming to himself. Alfred stayed still for a small while, content in just watching Arthur. The men were silent, and Alfred wondered if Arthur knew he was still there. "Mister Jones?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm closing soon." Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry, but tomorrow?"

Alfred flushed and turned away, heading for the door. "Right, sorry!" He stepped outside, breathing in, then looked back in. "Um, can I know your name too?" Arthur seemed caught off guard by the question. Most people just knew him by Mister Kirkland, not his full name.

"Arthur Kirkland," he answered after a bout of silence. He heard Alfred chuckle, and he pouted. "Is something funny about that?"

"Not at all. It's just a nice name." Alfred grinned at the man. "See you later, Arthur."

Alfred left, leaving Arthur to himself and his flowers. Arthur didn't do much for a while, lost in his own thoughts. A smile crept onto his lips again, and he began to start on his work once again.

* * *

When the next day came, Alfred arrived at the shop, being met with a wonderfully arranged bouquet of flowers. He stared at it for a good while as Arthur sat at his counter. The flowers were put together in such a magnificent fashion that Alfred began to wonder if it had actually been Arthur who had done it. How would he have known how to put them together like this? He couldn't even see them.

"Did someone else do this?" he questioned, taking the flowers into his hands. Arthur shook his head, pursing his lips.

"That's a common question. I'm always the one to put these together."

"How?" Alfred noticed how Arthur flinched at the question, and he felt a twang of guilt. He must have hit a sensitive spot. Arthur stood and stretched, running fingers through his messy blonde hair.

"I just... Well, the scents and how they feel…" He shrugged and closed his eyes. "Whatever feels and smells good together, I figure they must look good together as well. Beauty isn't only in appearance."

"But what if a customer isn't satisfied?" Alfred didn't mean to keep pressing on; it was just his curious nature. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them back up, watching Arthur carefully. "What then?"

"Well, I would just redo it," Arthur stated simply, chuckling. "But, so far, no one has been upset at my arrangements." He moved to grab his mug of tea, sipping it. "Are you?"

"Well, uh, no…" Alfred looked to his feet. "Not at all, actually. It looks... It looks really great."

"And how about the scent?"

"I don't think that ma-"

"Tell me how it smells."

Alfred furrowed his brows, wetting his lips. Didn't all flowers smell good? He thought this silly, but the way that Arthur's eyes stared him down made him put the flowers to his nose, sniffing. The smell was lovely, refreshing, and it sent a chill through Alfred's body. "They smell nice..."

"Do they smell beautiful?"

"Beautiful? You can't smell beauty."

"I can."

Alfred watched as Arthur made his way around the counter, feeling his way to the roses. He breathed in, a content sigh escaping his lips right after. Alfred didn't know what to think of him. He was weird, being able to "smell beauty", which Alfred thought was rather impossible. He walked up behind Arthur, leaning in to smell at the plants as well. They smelled nice, yes, but he couldn't sense beauty in the scent, only in their appearance. Yeah, Arthur was a strange guy.

"You owe me money," Arthur spoke, not turning to meet Alfred. "I can't give out free things."

"Right." Alfred dug in his pocket, listening to Arthur for the correct amount. He placed the money in Arthur's outstretched hand. Arthur licked his thumb and flipped through the bills, humming. "How can you even tell that I gave you the right amount?"

"You have to learn to live on trust," Arthur murmured, stuffing the money into his pocket. "Being blind won't let me think any other way." He returned to his counter, looking at his hands. Alfred didn't know what else to say, so he decided to be on his way.

"Thank you, Arthur," he mumbled, opening the door, the bell clinking. He looked up, finding the chime pretty. The bell was a small, silver item, plain in looks, but the sound it gave was nice, yes.

"It's a pleasure to have served you, Mister Jones."

Alfred left the store, listening to his footsteps on the pavement. He looked up to the sky, grey clouds meeting his eyes. It was going to storm soon. He wondered if Arthur knew that. He couldn't see the clouds signaling for bad weather. He could only feel the strong winds and hear the claps of thunder. It was a saddening thought, in reality.

Alfred let out a long sigh. He was putting too much thought into a man he barely knew. No use in focusing his mind on Arthur, he had other people to worry about. So, he put on a grin and broke into a sprint, heading for his neighborhood.

* * *

When Alfred visited again, it was a month after their first meeting. Searching for a new bouquet, Alfred had decided that Arthur had done wonderfully. His brother had really liked the first one, and there was no way that Alfred was going to let his brother down.

His foot tapped on the tile floor, rubbing his chin in thought as he stared at the flowers. There were a lot of them, and Alfred didn't know half of their names. It was a wonder how Arthur had been able to have known by just touching the petals. Biting his lip, Alfred continued in scanning through the plants, picking out one's that Matthew might like, ones he might not. He didn't know what his brother wanted usually, that guy was so vague.

Alfred jumped when he felt Arthur tap his shoulder, and he spun around to greet him. "H-hey! Don't sneak up on me like that."

"I didn't realize I was." Oh, right. Blind. "Mister Jones, are you in need of another bouquet? Do you need help?"

"Actually, yes." Alfred looked back to the flowers, then to the slightly shorter man. "Can you do what you did last time for me? Maybe something a bit different, though. I like to mix things up!"

"Of course." Arthur chuckled and walked down the row of flowers, Alfred following. Like last time, Arthur's fingers danced on the petals, and he soon had two kinds of flowers picked out. He didn't bother in telling Alfred the names. It was obvious this man didn't know much about any sort of gardening whatsoever.

Alfred idly watched as Arthur took a seat at a work table, spreading the flowers out. He didn't move for a while, just sat in silence. The tune playing over the speakers was the only noise in the shop, accompanied by gusts of wind from the outside. Arthur sometimes inhaled deeply, sometimes he smiled, but it would quickly disappear, and Alfred wondered if it had actually been there in the first place.

Before long, Arthur looked up, turning his head in Alfred's direction. "Will you be staying, Mister Jones?"

"Oh." Alfred went to him, fidgeting. "Well, um, would you mind if I stayed? I don't have much to do right now." Arthur looked away, giving a nod of approval. Alfred grinned and sat down, watching and waiting. Arthur's hands were still, his eyes closed. Alfred frowned at that. Was the immense darkness he saw with closed eyes always like that for Arthur? He would never know and never be able to understand.

Arthur stood and paced for a few moments before grabbing a vase, taking his seat again. His hands began to work, a smile on his lips as he placed the flowers and moved them around. He would occasionally lean in to sniff the plants, then fix them differently. It took an hour for him to finish, and the outcome was as amazing as the last bouquet. He breathed in the flower's scent, his brows rising in glee, his face lighting up. Alfred held back a chuckle, but a grin was plastered onto his features. Seeing Arthur happy was a cute sight.

"Mister Jones, how does it look?" Arthur asked, pushing the vase to Alfred. He looked over the flowers, nodding.

"It's great! Thank you!" He stood, taking the vase into his hands. "Oh, um, do I need to pay for the-"

"No, no, consider it on the house." Arthur went to his counter, taking a sip of his tea. He grimaced when the cold liquid touched his lips. "Ah, I ignored it for too long..."

"That so." Alfred joined Arthur at the counter, setting the vase down. "Do you need help in brewing a new cup?"

"Ah, that isn't necessary." Arthur turned away, heading for a back room. "I'll be back shortly. The cost of the flowers will be-", He yelped as his leg hit against the corner of a cabinet, causing him to trip, the mug falling from his hands and onto the floor. Arthur managed to catch himself in time, cursing under his breath. Alfred rushed to him, bending down to collect the shattered pieces.

"Are you okay?" he questioned, looking up at Arthur. The man's face was a deep shade of red, obviously embarrassed from the ordeal. "Arthur?"

"I'm fine," he muttered. "I'm sorry." He began to grab at the pieces as well, hurrying himself.

They took all they could and placed them in the waste bin, Arthur sighing heavily. "It's not usually like that. I know my way around this store just fine. I must have been distracted."

"Do you not have an assistant?" Alfred raised a brow at Arthur, who shook his head.

"No. My family has been trying to convince me to take one in for years now, but I can handle just fine on my own. Besides, other people in the town get things for me, groceries and what not."

That peaked Alfred's interest. Did Arthur barely ever leave this shop? How often did he go outside? He already knew the answer, but he wanted to know for sure. "You don't get out much, huh?"

"Not for a while, no. Only if a family member is visiting. Why?"

"Do you not think that you need help here?" Alfred continued. Arthur pursed his lips in thought.

"No. I'm doing just fine on my own. It will be like that for many years to come." Alfred huffed at the answer and crossed his arms.

"I think that's nonsense!" he said. It really was! There was no doubt that Arthur needed help, and Alfred was going to give him that help, whether the other liked it or not! "I want to apply here."

"Pardon me?" Arthur turned his eyes to Alfred. This was a strange request. No one had ever asked to work with him.

"Let me work here! I want to help!" Alfred exclaimed. Arthur didn't say anything for a while, finding the request ridiculous at first. Alfred was only offering out of pity.

"No, I'll be fine by myself."

"Please."

Arthur bit his lower lip and turned away from Alfred, focusing on his thoughts. He had been fine like this for three years, but at some point, a sense of loneliness had washed over the shop. Arthur had many customers, who spoke to him of things they had encountered that day, of the pretty girls they saw, but that never helped him. All it did was give him feelings of jealousy, and he resented that. So, perhaps having Alfred here wouldn't be too bad. Having someone to talk to.

"Fine." He hid a smile as the other cheered. "But don't mess up my flowers, alright?" He turned to Alfred, holding out his hand. The American's larger one grabbed it, his grip firm. "It's good to be working with you, Alfred."

* * *

For a few weeks, Alfred sat around shop, watching customers come and go. Arthur would chat with all of them, prepare bouquets, and then send them off. The man still did that weird sniff and touch thing, but Alfred mostly considered it to be Arthur's thing. The scent of beauty was what Arthur called it, and no matter what he said, Alfred didn't believe him. Beauty was only through seeing in Alfred's mind; there was no other way.

In the time they were working together, Alfred learned that Arthur wasn't as calm as he usually let on. Arthur was a twenty five year old man, who drank too much tea and enjoyed the news, got upset with politics, and could barely cook. Alfred had taken on that job for him, something that Arthur reluctantly agreed to.

Alfred mostly became Arthur's errand boy, running to post offices, buying groceries, the works. Alfred didn't mind, as long as it was helpful to Arthur. Sometimes when Alfred didn't get the right brand, Arthur would send him back to find the one he liked. He was picky, that was for sure.

But more than ever, Arthur was quiet, a smile always on his face as he hummed tunes. He didn't speak much to Alfred, but he seemed happy in having the company. As the weeks wore into months, the two became more comfortable with each other. They knew habits and had inside jokes. They knew each others favorite shows, and would sometimes watch them together if they had the time. Alfred quickly let Arthur in as a good friend, and he figured that Arthur must have done the same.

He would pat Alfred's back, touch his shoulder, laugh with him if one of them said something funny. It was becoming a lovely routine, and Alfred couldn't have been happier with it. But there were still things he didn't understand about Arthur and his sense of beauty. This man would call the world beautiful, even if it was actually far from it. Perhaps the pollen had gone to his head, but Arthur was adamant in defending what he said.

Arthur couldn't see the destruction and death that was shown on TV. If he had been able to, Alfred was positive that Arthur's outlook would change, that his optimism would shatter. But Arthur said it wouldn't, and he was a stubborn man. But that was something nice about Arthur. He wasn't depressing; he was just content in life and believing that it was beautiful.

At times, Alfred wouldn't show up at the shop for days on end. When he returned, Arthur could hear the weariness in his voice, but he never questioned it. It could easily be a sensitive topic that he didn't want to prod.

He was right in thinking that. For two weeks, Alfred didn't come to help Arthur. This was worrisome, but whatever it was, it was none of his business. So when Alfred came back, he was welcomed happily. His reasons for being gone were far from happiness, though.

"My brother passed away," he had said over a cup of coffee. The words caught Arthur off guard, and he looked to Alfred.

"What?"

"He had been battling cancer," Alfred whispered, his voice hoarse. "He was so close to winning, b-but he lost. He's gone."

Arthur could only listen as Alfred broke down into choked sobs, sounding as if he was trying to hold back the sounds. Arthur silently reached for Alfred's hand, taking it in a gentle hold. He was trembling, his entire body was. Arthur didn't know what to do at that time, and he felt helpless. He could feel tears roll down his own cheeks, and he laced his fingers with Alfred's.

When Alfred had calmed down a while later, he looked to Arthur, shocked to see his tear stains on his face. He reached over, touching the areas. Arthur's eyes closed and he leaned into the touch. "Why are you crying?" Alfred murmured, gaze locked on Arthur's face. The man breathed in, biting his lower lip.

"Because sometimes, I realize that this world isn't as beautiful as I think it to be."

* * *

Upon request, Alfred took Arthur a week later to visit Matthew's grave. He was buried in a small cemetery, graves scattered about. Flowers decorated the grounds, some naturally grown, other's brought by mourning family members. Arthur had prepared a stunning bouquet for Matthew, listening as Alfred put it down against the granite memorial. The earth under him was soft and fresh, the funeral having been recent.

Small winds blew through the trees, the men standing in silence. Birds chirped quietly, the only noise around them. Arthur heard Alfred sniff at times, definitely trying to hold back another break down. Arthur offered a comforting hand, which Alfred gladly accepted. Alfred's eyes were blurred with tears, and he blinked them away multiple times, wanting to focus all of his attention on Matthew's headstone. He was jostled from his thoughts when Arthur took a deep breath. He looked to the Englishman, a bit surprised.

"Alfred, I want you to close your eyes and breathe in as well."

"Arthur-"

"Trust me." He gave Alfred a soft smile, Alfred's heart clenching.

He took a deep breath, exhaling when he was told to. Arthur had him crouch down, making him touch the grass. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair, and after a few minutes, he looked to Arthur. "Arthur, I don't understand..."

"What does it smell like?" Arthur questioned. Alfred stared at him before thinking on the question.

"W-we're in a cemetery, so-"

"But it doesn't have a bad scent, does it?" Arthur cut in. "It doesn't smell of death. It smells of life."

Alfred swallowed thickly, the grip on Arthur's hand tightening. He was right. The grass tickling against the palm of his hand showed that it was there and alive, and the drafting scents of flowers and trees passed him. They were in a place full of death, but also full of life. And it was beautiful.

Alfred wiped at his eyes and nodded. "It's amazing, Arthur…" he whispered, standing with the man. Arthur smiled at him, taking both of his hands. Alfred couldn't help but lean forwards, their foreheads pressing together. "Hey, will you show me how you do it?" he murmured. "How you make the bouquets."

"Of course."

* * *

A few days after the visit, Arthur had sat Alfred down at a work table, many flowers in front of him. Alfred fidgeted a bit, afraid that he might embarrass himself if he did poorly. He observed Arthur as he worked, but he doubted he could live up to what the other man did.

He let out a tiny gasp when Arthur slipped a blindfold around his eyes. "W-what are you doing?" he mumbled, a small blush on his cheeks. Arthur's fingers played nicely through his hair, even without meaning to.

"Letting you see how I see," Arthur answered, taking a seat next to him. "You must rely on your sense of touch and smell. Do your best."

Alfred was nervous at first, sniffing at the plants, feeling their shapes and how their petals worked. He began to work silently, concentrated on doing his best. Arthur merely sat beside him, a smile on his lips.

"You're tense." His hand rubbed Alfred's shoulder. "This isn't witchcraft, Alfred, just flower arranging. Have fun and go with what feels right." Alfred nodded, relaxing at the touch. Arthur had found many ways to soothe him, which he was entirely grateful for.

As they went on, the two carried on a conversation, speaking about family members and goals. Alfred was surprised to learn that Arthur had wanted to become an author for children, but had found it too difficult. Alfred remembered Arthur reading something to him, which he could only guess was the man's writing. It was wonderful, and he wished that Arthur had pursued his dream. He still had time, plenty of time, but he didn't seem to want to play on the idea.

Arthur listened as Alfred spoke of his brother in a fond tone, then of his parents and other people close to him. Old girlfriends and the likes, which ultimately led up to one question, which was about Arthur's love life.

"What about you, Arthur? Have you had any girlfriends?" It was an innocent question, and Arthur couldn't blame him for it.

"No, I haven't."

"So, did you have boyfriends, then?" Arthur smiled at that.

"No, neither. But, a little secret, I prefer the way a man's body feels." Alfred laughed at that and gave a small comment of agreement, making Arthur's heart flutter. So Alfred was the same way.

In a two hour span of time, Alfred had managed to finish. He breathed in the scent, finding it refreshing. Arthur commented on it as well, standing to remove Alfred's blindfold. Alfred kept his eyes closed, afraid that it might look bad, even if it smelled good. Arthur patted Alfred's shoulders.

"You know, my Nana told me that appearance doesn't matter when it comes to gardening. If it's easy on the eyes, that's fine, but what really matters is the air and feeling it gives." He smiled down at Alfred. "Go ahead and open your eyes."

Alfred breathed in and did so, heart filling with excitement when he saw the arrangement. It didn't compare to Arthur's, but it was definitely something he was pleased with! Arthur laughed when Alfred let out a cheer, feeling him stand. He stepped back, letting the man admire his work. What he didn't expect was for Alfred to suddenly pull him into a hug.

"I understand it all now," he murmured. "Beauty isn't in sight…"

"I'm glad you're seeing my side of things," Arthur responded, closing his eyes as he returned the embrace.

"Thank you, Arthur." Alfred pulled back, looking into the eyes of the shorter man. "Hey, um, this is really cheesy and lame, but I'm glad I met you." His cheeks were dusted with pink as Arthur smiled.

"As am I."

* * *

Time wore on, and Alfred and Arthur became inseparable friends. They grocery shopped together, took walks, spoke of things that had happened to them that day, or things from their pasts. At times, Alfred would find grief, remembering Matthew. He would always go to Arthur for comfort, and Arthur accepted him with open arms.

Alfred caught onto Arthur's tendencies. How he would constantly shift positions on the sofa, how he would hold utensils. He sometimes bit at his nails and scolded himself afterwards, or he would get annoyed at a single piece of hair and tuck it behind his ear. Alfred noticed all of these tendencies, and slowly found himself falling for them.

Or, at least, he wasn't falling for the habits Arthur had. He was falling for Arthur in general, the man's entire being. They had known each other for tenth months now, and over that period of time, Alfred had found himself infatuated. Arthur was the strongest man he knew, never faltering in pleasing other people, always seeing the beauty in everything.

One day, as they were placing flowers in their correct spaces, Alfred spoke up. "Arthur, do you really believe this world is beautiful?"

"Of course I do. Do you never listen to me talk?" he chuckled. Alfred pouted with a huff.

"Of course I do! It's just... I don't know how you can think like that."

"Why?"

"There's so much hate, Arthur. Innocent people die each day, there's war, famine, everything that is ugly." He gave a heavy sigh. "This world is ugly."

Arthur stopped in his work, thinking on what Alfred had said. "You're right, Alfred. This world _is_ ugly." He smiled. "But, there's ugliness in everything, even the most beautiful flower. In my mind, you must look past this to see the beauty in things. There are good and bad sides, I just choose to look at the better one." He stood straighter. "That's why I know this world is beautiful. There's so much to its beauty, it's never ending."

"You always speak of how beautiful this world is, or how beautiful other people are. But, you know, you're beautiful too." He heard Arthur's breathing hitch. "And you're the most beautiful person who has ever come into my life."

They stood in silence, their minds racing. Alfred was afraid of rejection, terrified that Arthur would become angry. What he received was the complete opposite. He watched as tears rolled down Arthur's cheeks, him covering his face as small sobs escaped his lips. Alfred was quick to bring him closer, worried.

"Arthur? Arthur, what's wrong?" Arthur shook his head, burying his face into Alfred's shoulder, clutching his arms. He murmured something between his cries, and Alfred had to listen closely to hear them.

"_Thank you, thank you…"_

* * *

"Many people have said that to me before," Arthur spoke, leaning on Alfred as they sat on the sofa. His cheeks were red from the crying he had done. "I've never believed them. I don't know what I look like, I never considered them to be sincere. Their voices pitied me, they tried to convince me that I was beautiful. But you... I've never heard someone so sincere." He felt Alfred pull him closer. "Thank you, Alfred. Thank you so much."

"I needed you to know," Alfred mumbled. "But your beauty isn't only on the outside, Arthur. You are the most amazing person I've ever met."

"You're just flirting," Arthur laughed, looking to him. Alfred gave a sheepish chuckle.

"I-I'm not! I'm being honest!"

"And flirtatious."

"A bit of both."

They shared a smile before Arthur took Alfred's face into his hands, flushed. Alfred, upon realization, felt his cheeks heat up as well. He closed his eyes as Arthur leaned in, surprised when he felt Arthur's lips land upon his nose.

"Ah, no, that's not right..." He tried again, this time hitting Alfred's cheek. "Wait, darn." Alfred's mouth turned into a goofy grin.

"Havin' a hard time?"

"Don't tease me."

"Can I help?" Alfred snorted as Arthur pouted.

"I don't need help."

"Arthur, sometimes it's okay to need some assistance. Besides, that's what I'm here for, right?"

Alfred moved forwards, hovering as he felt Arthur's breath hit him. They closed their eyes, lips connecting as they pressed closer to each other. The kiss was held for a good while, and it was soft. Arthur tasted faintly of his favorite tea, and Alfred's heart fluttered. Yes, yes, this was perfect. This was exactly what he wanted. This was beautiful.

* * *

After a year passed of them knowing each other, Alfred moved in, both of them working together to run and own the shop. Their nights consisted of snuggles and kisses, laughs shared between the two. Alfred made fancy dinners at times to surprise Arthur, who ate happily. Their life together was falling into place perfectly, and Alfred wanted it to remain that way.

"Okay, I want you to hold out your hand," Alfred said, grinning as Arthur's brow rose in confusion. He opened his mouth to question Alfred, but was immediately shushed. "Just trust me, okay?"

With a sigh, Arthur held out his palm. Alfred kissed it, then kissed Arthur as he placed a single daffodil in his hand. Arthur sniffed at it, smiling a bit.

"I don't get it, Alfred. It's a daffodil. We have plenty back at home." Alfred gave a kind laugh.

"I know, but this one is special."

"How so?"

"There's a ring on it." Alfred watched as Arthur's eyes widened in surprise.

"P-pardon?"

"A ring! A pretty silver ring with an emerald in it!" Arthur felt for the ring on the stem, grabbing the cool metal.

"But what is it for…?" he questioned.

"Well, it's called me not having a good way of proposing to you, so..." He laughed as Arthur's face turned a deep shade of red.

"Proposing?! That's... How embarrassing..." He looked away, grumbling to himself. Alfred rolled his eyes, pulling Arthur into a hug.

"Hey, all you've got to say is yes, or no." Arthur huffed and nuzzled Alfred's neck, trying to hide his blush.

"You make that sound easy…"

"So, what's your answer~?" Alfred hummed, rubbing Arthur's back. Arthur let out a deep sigh.

"Y-yes..." He leaned up to kiss Alfred, holding it for a minute before pulling back. Alfred helped to put the ring on, both of them grinning with pink cheeks. "I can't even see this ring, you know."

"Hey now," Alfred murmured. "You don't always have to see beauty."

* * *

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